


The Toughest Job of All

by GloriaMundi



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: insearchtion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the <a href="http://insearchtion.livejournal.com/">Insearchtion</a> challenge (what happened to Nash after Saito's men dragged him away?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Toughest Job of All

Nash is pretty sure his number’s up, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to forgive thy enemy: wastes a lot of time and energy (but distracts himself from the pain of his bruises and cracked ribs) cussing out Cobb and Arthur and the way they wrote him off without a backwards glance. Fuckers. Assholes. Like Arthur never made a mistake. Like Cobb never fucked up. And Nash never completely bought the story about Cobb's wife. What was --

The door opens.

"Mr Nash." It's the mark. Saito.

"Wha’?" says Nash. "Come to pu’ in the boo’ personally before you gimme to Cobol's security?" And it sucks that the beating handed out by this guy’s bodyguards means Nash can't enunciate properly, that the words come out blurred and blunted.

"Not at all, Mr Nash." Saito remains in the doorway, still and calm and composed. There are at least two men behind him. "If I had intended to give you to Cobol, you would be there now. You are not." He gestures. The room is small and gloomy, but there's a bed and a toilet, a sink and a heap of bloodied paper towels. "I chose to bring you here because I was ... impressed with your work."

"The hell you were," says Nash bitterly. "You jus’ needed an in to get to Cobb. Thanks for tellin’ him _I_ came to _you_ , by the way."

"Nevertheless," says Saito, "the dream you built was very nearly perfect. You could not know that Cobb would," he smiles, "force me to a more intimate acquaintance with the carpet."

"Thanks," says Nash flatly. "You can write me a reference. No, wai’: I'm not gonna need references where I'm goin', huh? Cobol already know what they’re gettin’."

"I would like to propose a deal, Mr Nash," says Saito. "Perform three jobs for me, and you will be free to go."

There's no need to waste time considering the offer. "Sure, Mr Saito," says Nash, with a painful attempt at his most sincere smile. "Whatever you say." 

Because even if it's a con, it buys him time; and Nash would give anything, right now, for just a little more time.

*

Job number one is … not what Nash expected.

He's gotten some experience in the more sordid side of dreamcade work: fantasy adventures with chicks in chain-mail, that kind of thing. What Saito wants is cleaner and more challenging. Against his better judgement, Nash is intrigued. It's like doing real work, the kind he always wanted to do. He dredges up memories of sci-fi movies and cult novels, and puts together a futuristic film-noir setting, hoverbikes and sheets of drizzle and something with tentacles lurking in the dirty purple river. It takes Saito seven or eight tries to get to the end: when he finally vaults over the parapet of the roof garden and strides towards the table where Nash sits, he's grinning like a teenager.

"Fine work, Mr Nash," says Saito. "I understand your more ... visible injuries have faded. Yes?"

"Yeah," says Nash. Maybe he should say something about the place Saito's keeping him -- complain about the diet of noodles and juice, demand smokes and beer and some proper food, tell Saito he doesn't need a daily checkup from the nurse. (Or if the nurse is non-negotiable, could she maybe be replaced by someone younger and prettier, ideally an English-speaker?) he doesn't say any of that.

"Then you are ready for the second task," says Saito. "Before now, your appearance would have alarmed the subject."

*

Okay. Sonia, Saito’s mistress, the one he used to hook up with in that shabby Altamira apartment. Nash remembers the dust, the chipped paint, the broken floor tiles. But there's no way she'll remember _him_ from the dream he constructed so Cobb could take her under, steal her purse and figure out the location of Saito's sleazy love-nest.

He can do this. Right.

"Remember, Mr Nash: you will do as the lady asks," Saito reminds him. "No tricks. No arguments. Just let her tell you what she wishes to dream, and make it real for her."

"Right," says Nash.

Sonia Medina keeps him waiting for over an hour before she deigns to appear. No red cocktail dress today: she's dressed in cream and black, a tailored suit that doesn't do much to hide her figure. Two bodyguards lurk by the door, out of earshot but alert.

"Mr Nash," she greets him. "I am pleased that our mutual friend persuaded you to meet with me."

"A pleasure, Mrs Medina," says Nash. "I don't know --"

"I have been told that you can create anything in a dream," says Sonia Medina, fixing him with a hard dark stare.

"Y-yes."

"I should like you to create a world in which ..." She hesitates, looking down at the table between them; takes a sip of water. When she speaks again her voice is no more than a whisper. "In which he and I are together."

Well, _fuck_.

But Nash's mom used to read Harlequins, and he's sat through more than his share of rom-coms -- motel cable usually sucks, but he'd rather watch a crappy romance than nothing at all. He dreams up a scenario in which Sonia Medina's husband (something big in government, according to Cobb) falls victim to a painless but fast-progressing disease, leaving his widow to seek solace ( _fuck_ , even his thoughts are turning into purple prose) in the arms of a tall, powerful Japanese businessman. He buys her presents: no, he _lavishes_ her with _gifts_. (Nash leaves them wrapped, and watches in surprise as Sonia tears the paper away to reveal, not expensive dresses or ornate jewellery, but books and paintings.) He escorts her to the opera, the theatre, the movie premieres.

It's boring as hell but Nash trails after Sonia through the dream, just to keep an eye on her.  
When the happy couple end up at that grimy apartment in Altamira (and yeah, it's a dream, else anyone dressed like that wouldn't make it fifty yards in this neighbourhoord), he doesn't follow them through the door.

He knows what's going to happen next.

*

"The lady was very happy with your work," Saito says to Nash. "But I wonder, can you impress your third client?" He chuckles. "Because, Mr Nash, your task will not be complete until she is satisfied."

Satisfied, huh? Nash starts to grin. But something cruel in Saito's smile tells Nash it's not gonna be _mutual_ satisfaction.

"Sure," he says anyway, because what choice does he have? He's pretty much back to normal after a fortnight of Saito’s efficient, impersonal care. The nurse doesn't come every day. His door isn't locked at night, either. He could run: but Cobol are probably still after him, if they're not busy with Cobb and Arthur by now. (Nash wonders where his former colleagues are. He hopes it's somewhere shitty.) "Okay," he tells Saito. "Bring it on."

Nash's third client is six years old.

"I want to be a Pokemon trainer," says Tamiko excitedly. "I want Pikachu and I want an eevee and I want ..."

Nash sighs, but not so she can hear, and sets himself to fulfilling his most challenging contract yet.

-end-


End file.
